


some might say the weather ain't the way it used to be

by brinnanza



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character, circa early season two, extremely minor internalized transphobia, pwp but like with feelings, they're both trans because I'm trans and I said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: Tim peers at him from across the grubby pub table, the low lights casting shadows in the lines of his face, and says, “Do you want to come home with me?”Martin swallows his swig of beer. He’s not stupid; he knows what Tim is asking. Neither of them is so drunk as to be senseless, and even Martin’s not quite so naive as to misunderstand. It’s a casual offer, Martin knows. Neither turning it down nor accepting will change Tim’s opinion of him or alter their working relationship, from Tim’s point of view at least. And even in the depths of Martin’s desperate, ill-advised pining for his boss of all people, he can’t deny Tim is attractive.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 283





	some might say the weather ain't the way it used to be

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this for so long please take it
> 
> no betas we die like men also the title's from livin it up on top from hadestown because all my magnus fic is titled after hadestown and I can't very well stop here
> 
> this takes place relatively early in season 2, post worm recovery but pre tim and martin learning exactly how paranoid and nuts jon has gotten. it was supposed to just be light and fun but then martin had Emotions and also whoops there;s way more Trans Content than originally intended. don't worry I'm trans so I'm allowed. but also the idea of notorious hot playboy flirt tim stoker being trans is just. very very good. I use masc terms for both of their junk (cock/dick, etc).

Tim peers at him from across the grubby pub table, the low lights casting shadows in the lines of his face, and says, “Do you want to come home with me?”

Martin swallows his swig of beer. He’s not stupid; he knows what Tim is asking. Neither of them is so drunk as to be senseless, and even Martin’s not quite so naive as to misunderstand. It’s a casual offer, Martin knows. Neither turning it down nor accepting will change Tim’s opinion of him or alter their working relationship, from Tim’s point of view at least. And even in the depths of Martin’s desperate, ill-advised pining for his boss of all people, he can’t deny Tim is attractive. 

But there is something tired in Tim’s expression, some bone-deep weariness that seems to be tattooed there as of late, only a token attempt to hide it. There is something else to this, some comfort Tim is seeking that Martin isn’t sure he can provide. Martin knows how to care for people - it seems like the only thing he knows how to do sometimes - but he is good at tea and blankets, a patient ear, a well of careful calm. People don’t look to _Martin_ for the kind of comfort Tim is after.

He wants to ask _Why me?_ But he fears the answer is simply _Because you’re here_. Instead, he says, “Do you - is that - is that a good idea?”

Tim shrugs, and the corner of his mouth twitches up in a wry little smile. “Probably not,” he says. It’s more honest than Martin had been expecting. “But I’m asking anyway. You’re...” Tim’s smile gets a little more real, and for a moment, he more closely resembles the man Martin had known before the worms, before the scars, before everything. “I’ve always liked you, Martin.”

Something warm blooms in Martin’s chest and in his cheeks. Tim is always like this - it’s how he sweet talks his way into police reports and utility company records. He probably even means it; Tim is charming, but there’s a sense of honesty in it, like he really is that interested in everyone he talks to. And maybe it’s all just an act, but… but he’s good at it, is the thing. And maybe Martin could use a bit of that comfort himself.

“Okay,” Martin says. “Yes.”

Tim’s flat is well-decorated, sleek in a way that manages to still feel lived in. The furniture looks well-kept but comfortable, and there are photographs hung up around the living room - crumbling, abandoned buildings, mostly, the occasional landscape, but there are no people in any of the pictures. It occurs to Martin that this is certainly not the first time Tim has brought someone back here, and he’s grateful Tim’s place was closer. Even before he’d been barricaded in his flat for two weeks by worms, Martin hadn’t exactly been the type of person that had people over.

“You want a drink?” Tim says, tossing his keys on the coffee table. He toes off his shoes and sheds his jacket, and Martin follows suit. “Think I’ve got a few beers still.”

Martin shakes his head. He’d sobered up from just past tipsy on the tube, and he wants to keep a clear head, even as anxiety snakes into his gut, threatening to talk him out of this. “No thanks.” His instinct is to offer to make tea, but it’s Tim’s kitchen, and Martin doesn’t know where anything is.

And it’s not like Martin’s _never_ had a one night stand before, he just usually prefers a couple of dates and some conversation before things get heated. And it’s not even like he’s never kissed Tim before - he’d never had the heart to turn down Tim’s eager expression when Tim caught him under mistletoe, several drinks in at the institute’s holiday party. He’s just not sure how they’re meant to get from pleasant small talk to - to whatever Tim has in mind.

Tim saves him from wringing his hands nervously in the entryway by tugging him gently into the living room proper and settling his arms around Martin’s neck. “This okay?” he says, and Martin manages to nod, his throat going dry at the proximity. Tim is… he’s gorgeous, of course, all sharp cheekbones and artfully tousled hair, and he’s somehow even more breathtaking up close. Even the round, pink scars scattered across his face and neck are beautiful, somehow; scraps of poetry drift through Martin’s mind unheeded, something about how Tim’s skin is like the night sky, scattered with stars. 

The words promptly vanish as Tim leans in a little, close enough that Martin can feel the warm puff of his breath, and says in a low, throaty voice, “Can I kiss you?”

Martin’s breath leaves him all in a rush. He nods, and then Tim’s lips are against his, warm and soft. It’s chaste, a question and an invitation that Martin doesn’t hesitate to accept. He has kissed Tim before, but this is the first that’s ever held any promise in it.

Drawing on some well of daring he hadn’t known he had, Martin scrapes a suggestion of teeth over Tim’s bottom lip. Tim hums approvingly, deepening the kiss. His tongue is bold alongside Martin’s, and a soft whimper escapes Martin’s throat. Martin lets himself get lost in it, the slick slide of lips, the sharp nip of teeth. Martin is certain he’s never been kissed so thoroughly, not that there is a particularly wide pool of competitors.

Eventually, Tim pulls back, fingers rubbing gentle circles on the nape of Martin’s neck. Tim’s lips are slick, kiss-bruised, and Martin just barely holds himself back from dipping in to take another bite. “Shall we move this to the bedroom?” Tim says. He waggles his eyebrows playfully, grin tugging at his lips.

“Please,” Martin says. It comes out as a desperate whine; Tim has barely touched him and already, arousal burns hot under his skin. “I mean, yes. If you. Yes.”

Tim smiles, something warm and fond in his eyes. He kisses the tip of Martin’s nose and then heads down the hallway toward what Martin assumes is the bedroom. 

“Do you mind topping?” Tim says over his shoulder as he pushes the door open, revealing a tidy bedroom and its large double bed.

“Oh, um, I, uh -” Martin stammers, trailing after him, and oh yes, this is why he doesn’t typically do one night stands, especially with people he has to see again. “I’m not - I don’t - I mean -” He swallows hard and sucks in a sharp breath, makes himself just say it. Tim’s not an asshole, and he probably won’t be a dick about it, plus he’s bi, so he’s not totally unfamiliar with the equipment. “I’m, um, trans?”

Tim looks up from where he’s knelt beside the bed, digging for something underneath it. “Okay,” he says in a tone of voice that suggests Martin has just commented on the weather or some other similarly banal non-sequitur. “So is that a no, or…?”

Martin’s face is rapidly nearing the temperature of the surface of the sun. “I mean I don’t have-”

Tim reaches under the bed again and then holds up a black strappy harness with a silicone dick set into one panel. “If you can’t grow your own cock, store-bought will do.” He waggles an eyebrow at Martin suggestively. “It’s fine if you don’t want to,” he says, trading the leer for a more serious expression. He sets the harness down on the bed. “I’ll admit I was hoping for a good dicking down, but I’m flexible.”

He winks, and no, _now_ Martin’s face is approaching surface of the sun. He’s not unaware of the mechanics of such a contraption, but his own experiments with sex toys in general have been thoroughly solitary. Most of his previous partners had just wanted to fuck him, and the ones that didn’t were happy to trade oral. Martin usually just let them because that was easier, because it was faster, because he hadn’t wanted to make a fuss. It was fine, mostly, and the spike of dysphoria he had to live with all through the next day was probably worth it. “I just figured you’d want to -” he makes a vague hand gesture. “You know.”

“If by ‘you know’ you mean ‘have sex with you’, then yes, I do, but this is a two-party endeavor, y’know?” Tim gets to his feet and cups Martin’s face in one hand. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

In lieu of responding, Martin just tilts his face up, and Tim kisses him. It’s soft and slow, a gentle brush of tongues. When Tim draws back a moment later, eyes lidded, he strokes the pad of his thumb over martin’s cheekbone like he’s connecting the dots of Martin’s freckles. “It’s fine either way,” Tim says. 

“I want to,” Martin says.

Tim smiles, his whole face lighting up with it. He draws Martin in for another kiss, and then turns them so he can back Martin up to the bed. He eases Martin back, one hand cupping the back of his head as they go, and crawls over him, bracketing Martin’s body with his elbows and his thighs. 

Martin lets his hands roam over Tim’s chest, sliding up beneath his t-shirt, and Tim sits up just long enough to yank it over his head. Instead of returning to Martin’s mouth, he flicks open the buttons of Martin’s shirt, dropping soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat and across his shoulder.

When Martin’s shirt is open, Tim runs a fingertip along the bottom hem of his binder. “On or off?”

“Um, Martin says, biting his lip. He squirms beneath Tim, thighs pressed tightly together. “I think on? I don’t - um, I would prefer if you didn’t touch my chest?”

“Whatever you want,” Tim promises. He slides down the length of Martin’s body, dropping kisses and sharp little nips as he goes. His hands pause at the button of Martin’s trousers. “This okay?”

Martin just nods, and Tim flicks open his trousers. He tugs them down Martin’s legs, taking Martin’s boxers with them, and drops them off the side of the bed, leaving Martin bare before him. He strokes Martin’s thighs with his palms, bites gently at Martin’s hip. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, okay?” he says, shifting so he can part Martin’s thighs and settle between them.

“Wait,” Martin says, reaching down to tug Tim back up. “I want - you still have clothes on.”

Tim grins, going easily. He leans down to give Martin a soft, dirty kiss, and then climbs off the side of the bed to shuck his trousers and pants. Martin doesn’t bother to disguise the hunger in his expression as Tim takes his time to put on a bit of a show, hips swaying slightly. He winks and then finally lets the remaining fabric drop, revealing… not exactly what Martin had been expecting.

“Oh!” Martin says, arousal and surprise mixing to render him even less capable of speech than usual. His eyes dart between Tim’s legs and then back up to his chest, and now that he’s looking properly, he can see the faint lines of two scars across Tim’s chest. “Oh, you’re - you too?”

Tim arches an eyebrow at him. “Not gonna be a problem for you, is it?”

“No!” Martin yelps, face burning. “No, God, Tim, No. It’s fine, obviously, I just didn’t expect - you’re so -”

“Sexy?” Tim fills in. “Gorgeous? Amazing in bed?”

“Well yes,” Martin says, “obviously it’s just -” It’s just that Martin has some hangups he needs to work through, apparently. And it’s not that Tim passes exceptionally well, although he does, but there isn’t a trace of shame or apology in his demeanor at all. Martin always feels like he has to apologize for his body, even outside of the bedroom, and Tim is just… unabashedly himself. Martin’s more than a little jealous, if he’s honest.

He shakes his head a little and then sits up so he can reach for Tim, pulling him back into the bed. “Never mind.” He tugs Tim into a kiss, tongue licking into his mouth.

Tim settles back between Martin’s thighs again. He spreads Martin open before him, brushes a fingertip maddeningly lightly through Martin’s folds and then circles Martin’s cock, aided by Martin’s own slick. Martin bucks against his hand, aiming for more friction as a low moan escapes him. Tim chuckles. “Impatient, are we?” he says, and Martin can feel his breath ghosting over his cock.

A little shiver runs up Martin’s spine. “You’re a tease, you know that?” he says, a bit breathlessly.

“It’s called foreplay, Martin,” Tim says. There’s a hint of playful scolding in his tone, and Martin bites down on his bottom lip before a loud and slightly embarrassing moan can escape him. Naturally, it doesn’t escape Tim’s notice, and he gives Martin a wicked grin. “Like that, do you? Course you do. Want me to tell you off a bit?”

Martin intends to say, “God, yes, please,” because, well, the prospect is incredibly hot, except Tim pairs the question with a stroke of Martin’s cock between thumb and forefinger. What actually comes out is a high-pitched keening noise. “God, Tim,” he gasps. “ _Fuck_.”

“Just gagging for it, aren’t you?” Tim says, voice pitched lower that usual. He can’t quite manage to sound disappointed, but there’s a snap to the consonants that Martin is pretty sure he’s borrowing off Jon, which probably shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Tim clicks his tongue, thumbing at Martin’s cock. “I intend to take my time with you, so I suppose you’ll just have to be patient.” He looks up at Martin and arches a wry eyebrow.

“Hnng,” Martin says, helplessly, _desperately_ turned on. He wriggles, but Tim holds his hips down with one hand and then ducks his head to wrap his lips around Martin’s cock. He gives it a sharp suck before he pulls back to lick a broad stripe over Martin’s hole.

“Fingers?” Tim asks, glancing up at him.

“N-not inside,” Martin manages, barely. Tim nods and then gets back to it, alternating sucking on Martin’s cock with gentle laps of his tongue, knuckles stroking through Martin’s folds.

Tim ramps him up slowly, almost gently, until Martin’s whole body is on fire, writhing beneath Tim’s tongue. Martin wants to watch him, wants to memorize the dark, intense look in Tim’s eyes as he works Martin over, but it’s all Martin can do to hang on, hands twisted in the sheets. He can’t tell anymore if the sounds falling from his lips are words or just moans intermixed with attempts at Tim’s name, and it doesn’t matter because Tim’s mouth is incredible, hot and wet with just enough pressure.

Martin’s climax sneaks up on him - one moment he’s reaching out to pet Tim’s shoulder, his hair, and the next he’s coming, waves of pleasure crashing over him. It drags him down, and Martin lets himself drown in it.

When Martin comes back to himself, Tim is still nestled between his thighs, thumbs rubbing circles in the divots of his hips. “Hi there,” he says, a soft smile on his wet mouth. “You want another one?”

Martin’s cock gives a valiant twitch, but he knows his body well enough to know a second orgasm is unlikely. Also, Martin is pretty sure that if he comes that hard again so soon, it will kill him, and it would be awfully rude to die on Tim before he can return the favor. “Mm, no thank you,” he says while he waits for his bones to re-solidify. “Give me just a sec though.”

“Sure,” Tim says easily. He drops a kiss to Martin’s knee, a brief brush of lips that seems like an afterthought, an idle little gesture of affection. And Martin’s just had a truly spectacular orgasm, so maybe it’s the hormones, but something hitches in his chest as Tim’s lips brush his skin.

Even outside of sex, Tim is a fairly tactile guys - he’s constantly throwing his arms around Martin and Sasha, clapping Jon on the shoulder when he can get away with it. He’s just casual with his affection, like it doesn’t cost him anything. And maybe it doesn’t. The only way Martin knows how to care is to give himself away, piece by piece, but there never seems to be any less of Tim.

Martin leans up on his elbows, and Tim comes up to kiss him. Martin lets it linger for a long moment, tasting himself in Tim’s mouth, before he throws his legs over the side of the bed and stands to pull on the strap on. His legs are still a little wobbly, but Tim sits on the edge of the bed to help, his nimble fingers working over the straps as he leaves idle little kisses across Martin’s stomach and hips.

Once it’s adjusted to his liking, Tim looks up at Martin through his lashes and then slides off the bed and to his knees. A smile plays at the edges of his lips, and then he leans forward to press a soft kiss to the tip of the dildo strapped to Martin’s hips. The base rests against his dick, and even that slight pressure is enough to spark arousal within him again. 

Then Tim wraps his lips around the toy and slides slowly down the length of it, deliberately pressing the base firmly against Martin’s cock. Martin’s hips twitch forward thoughtlessly, but Tim just takes it. Martin wonders if the head of the toy has reached the back of Tim’s throat, if he’s swallowing around it. He shivers, gasps out a little moan. 

Perhaps a second orgasm isn’t out of the question after all.

Tim pulls off and sits back on his heels, a smug look on his face. Martin’s hand goes to the strap automatically, hand loosely wrapped around the shaft. It’s slick with Tim’s saliva, and he gives it a slow stroke, watching as Tim’s eyes dart to the motion.

“How do you want me?” Martin says as Tim gets to his feet.

Tim turns, gives him a considering look. “Hmm…” he says. There’s a pause, and then his eyes light up. “So many possible responses to that. How to choose?”

Martin rolls his eyes and nudges Tim’s shoulder so he drops down onto the bed. “It doesn’t count as an innuendo if we’re already having sex.”

“In _your_ endo,” Tim retorts.

“I thought you wanted me to top?”

Tim laughs, and a grin tugs at Martin’s lips. Tim scoots back on the bed and then rolls onto his stomach, arse up in the air. He pillows his head on his crossed arms and wiggles his hips a little. “In you get then.”

Martin huffs out a laugh and gets onto the bed behind him. He leans over Tim’s back to grab the lube from the bedside table, angling his hips so the strap on brushes between Tim’s legs. He presses a kiss to Tim’s spine, and Tim grinds back against him, pressing the base against Martin’s cock, and Martin adds a sharp scrape of teeth.

He slicks up the shaft and then puts the lube aside, though still within reach. “Which, uh…” He trails a palm over Tim’s ass, strokes down his thigh and nudges his hips forward so the dildo brushes against Tim again. “Front or back?”

In lieu of answering, Tim reaches between his own legs to grasp Martin’s hand by the wrist, shoving two fingers into his front hole. Martin’s fingers are still coated in lube and Tim is already slick with arousal, and Martin slides in easily. He curls his fingers up, feeling around until he gets a gasp and a low groan from Tim. He pulls back so his can palm Tim’s dick before returning to his hole with a slow and steady pressure.

“I enjoy a bit of fingering as much as the next guy,” Tim says after a minute of this, his voice breathy and a bit strained, “but Jesus Christ, Martin, _fuck me_.”

Martin gives Tim’s rear a playful swat with his free hand. “So impatient, he teases. “Is this the kind of behavior that has half the police department singing your praises?”

“I’ll have you know,” Tim starts, but whatever it is he means to say is cut off by a moan as Martin lines the strap on up and presses into him. He snaps his hips, driving the dildo into Tim in one smooth motion and then pulls back slowly and repeats the thrust. “Fuck, Martin,” Tim gasps between moans, “you’ve been - nng - you’ve been holding out on me.”

Martin flushes warm at the praise. “You never asked,” he says. He sets up a steady rhythm, sharp, quick thrusts between slowly dragging back until the toy nearly slips out of Tim. With every thrust, the base of the strap on bumps Martin’s cock with a delicious, electric zing, but more than that alone, the sounds Tim is making have Martin panting alongside him. Tim keens beneath him, garbled encouragement and Martin’s name spilling from his lips as he pushes back against every thrust.

His voice gets higher and higher as Martin fucks him, spiraling closer to tipping over the edge. “Martin - god, Martin, touch me,” Tim says, reaching behind himself for one of Martin’s hands. Martin reaches around Tim’s hip to stroke his cock between his thumb and forefinger, and the change in angle is just enough that Martin can chase his own orgasm as he slams into Tim. 

Tim goes silent as he comes, face pressed into his arms. Martin strokes him through it until he reaches back to bat Martin’s hand away from his cock. “Again?” Martin asks, slowing his hips.

“I wish, but I can’t,” Tim says, voice muffled. Martin stills, even as his cock throbs beneath the harness, and Tim pushes back against him again. “Keep going though; sounded like you were close.”

“You sure?” Martin asks, even as his hips start up again without his permission. 

“Yeah.” Tim turns his head so his cheek rests against the bed, no longer muffled by his arms. “Still feels really good.”

Normally Martin might protest, might ask again just to doublecheck, but he really had been close, just on the edge of it when Tim came. He resumes the same rhythm again, fucking Tim hard until he finds the tipping point again and comes with a cry.

Martin rests his forehead against the small of Tim’s back, just breathing as he comes down from his orgasm. He presses a soft kiss to Tim’s spine, and Tim hums an approval. He pulls out of Tim slowly, wriggles out of the harness and drops it off the side of the bed. He pauses there, sat back on his heels, unsure if he’s supposed to be getting dressed. Tim doesn’t seem like the type to kick someone out of bed, but even in the post-coital haze, Martin can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s intruding now that they’re finished.

Tim reaches back and grasps his wrist, tugging him back down and arranging him to his liking, curled up around Tim’s back, palm stroking lightly over his flank. Tim makes a contented little sound, settling against Martin’s chest. “Sorry, Martin,” he says sleepily. “Cuddling’s mandatory.”

Martin smiles into Tim’s hair and closes his eyes. They doze for a while, drifting in and out of awareness. For now, at least, there is just this, the two of them curled together, just skin and warmth and the quiet sound of their breathing. 

It’s comfortable in a way Martin isn’t accustomed to. His mind spins up again as the post-coital bliss fades into the familiar background noise of Martin’s fears and self-recriminations, reminding him that he’s not allowed to want this, that he doesn’t deserve it, that Tim surely has better potential bedmates than _Martin_.

He’s already half-expecting it when Tim stirs after a little while, wriggling beneath Martin’s arm. “Do you want me to leave?” Martin says, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. “It’s okay if you do.”

“Not yet,” Tim says.

Something warm flickers to life in Martin’s chest, and he tries desperately to keep it from igniting. “Do you want me to stay?”

There’s a long pause, no sound but Tim’s keep, even breaths, and Martin wonders if he’s fallen asleep. But then Tim exhales slowly, whatever tension remaining in his shoulders draining away. “Yeah,” he says, like it’s an admission. “I really think I do, Martin.”

The flames catch in within Martin, and he presses a gentle kiss to Tim’s hair. “Then I’ll stay,” he says.

And he does.


End file.
